Never Again

Rating: PG-13 (for violence and gore, and we can't forget the tears)

Summary: When Thranduil and his young family are taken by surprise and attacked by Orcs in the Mountains of Greenwood, the new king knows that he will never be the same. With his life at stake trying to protect his young wife and newborn child as he battles against overwhelming amounts of Orcs, Thranduil receives wounds that will never heal again.

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable does not belong to yours truly, but the beloved late Professor.

A/N: Well, I've returned with yet another short story. Two-part fic, please enjoy. Oh, and while I'm here, I'll say a few words: For those of you that have read Mask of Innocence, you may recall the nightmare Thranduil had. This is an extension of that nightmare, what I originally wrote to become a separate story until I incorporated the core bits into MOI. A sad story, my sister cried. I recommend you bring tissues and I'll begin erecting my fortress so I can avoid getting slain by an angry hoard of reviewers...

P.S. I've begun another long story! Legolas and Aragorn centered, Post-ROTK, a lot of angst, violence, and scary stuff. Appearances by Thranduil and Arwen as well. Well, I'm afraid I cannot tell you much more, so I'll let you read. ;)

Part I

"He loves the trees, meleth," She told him. She gently brushed back the top fold of light green silk to reveal a baby's face.

The woman smiled at her young husband; beaming at their young child that lay nestled in her arms.

"Vanya, he is beautiful; just like his mother," he murmured, his hand caressing the face of his infant son, and she blushed. The birds around them in the trees twittered and sang as they beheld the new Firstborn, one of the few born in many years. Although it was only spring, bright leaves drifted down from the canopy and twirled about the tiny family.

"You may hold him, Thranduil. He will not break and shatter like glass, not like you believe," Vanya teased with a smile. She offered the child to him, and carefully Thranduil took his son into his arms. He gazed at his child in amazement and love. The little elfling opened his eyes with a yawn and looked up at his father, his eyes like crystallized sapphire. Sensing a safe haven to sleep in, the child snuggled closer to Thranduil and let his eyes drift closed, resting in his father's embrace.

Thranduil looked up when he felt the cool touch of Vanya upon his cheek, and closed his eyes when her lips enveloped his own. There they stood, beneath the golden branches of the trees, their child asleep between them, for what seemed like hours on end. When at last their embrace was broken, it seemed too early for both of them, but a question had disturbed Thranduil's thoughts.

"Why did you want to name him 'Legolas'?" He asked quietly. Her radiant eyes met his.

"A leaf shall always bloom green in the spring, even if the only one in the growing darkness. It shall give hope to its entire people." Thranduil looked at her curiously. Vanya gazed down at the baby. "He shall do great things, Thranduil. And he will be forever remembered and renowned for his great friendships and accomplishments."

Thranduil drew her gaze back to him. "And raised by a mother like you he shall indeed become great like you foresee. I would choose no other to raise the future king of Greenwood with. It would be folly to nurture a child without your guidance and love, Vanya," he told her, and he was serious. But a shadow passed over his wife's face.

"There may come a time when you will have to raise him without me, Thranduil," Vanya murmured sadly, averting his gaze. He started, but she touched a hand to his lips. "Promise me, my love, that should anything happen to me you would not forsake your life in grief. Raise Legolas in my memory. Please, Thranduil."

The son of Oropher felt his heart twist. "Vanya, what-?"

"Please."

"I promise, Vanya. But why do you ask this of me?"

She looked away. "I cannot say. A shadow has come across my heart. And I fear that you and Legolas will be hurt in some way, physically or emotionally I cannot tell. But it eases my heart to know that you would stay with the child. I thank you."

Thranduil nodded, questions flooding through his mind but decided not to say anything. Vanya had said all she wanted to, and Thranduil knew she would not reveal anything further. Legolas suddenly stirred in his grasp, and began to whimper. Vanya gently took him from Thranduil and tried to soothe him, but the young prince only cried harder. Something made Thranduil glance around him, and he realized with a jolt that the birds and beasts of the forest had gone silent. The Elves could not even be heard singing anymore. A foul wind blew from the south, whipping Thranduil's bronze hair into his face. He turned slowly around, and in that instant heard the sharp twang of a bow. A pain exploded in his left shoulder and Thranduil was thrown backwards suddenly. He slammed into a tree and slumped to the ground, dazed.

"Thranduil!" Vanya cried, rushing towards him. He quickly snapped the shaft of an arrow that protruded from his shoulder, clutching at his arm but never crying out. Quickly he grabbed her and the child and forced them to run towards their home in the mountains, ignoring the blood that was now streaming from his arrow wound.

"Go, take Legolas and run!" He shouted, shoving her in the direction of the Elven stronghold. They were about an hour's walk from the house of his father, and Thranduil prayed that his son and wife would make it there alive. Clouds began to gather, and a wind picked up, whirling leaves around in frenzy. Thranduil stayed several feet behind Vanya as they ran; he was shielding her back from the gathering danger he felt gaining power as it drew closer to him and his family. Crashing footsteps and low growls sounded not thirty feet behind him. Thranduil glanced back, but immediately wished he had not.

At least forty Orcs were following them, their swords and spears gleaming, death written upon them as if it was written upon a scroll.

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In that instant Thranduil nearly froze. All the memories of Mordor suddenly flooded into his mind, unchecked. He saw his father, speared by the Orcs, crumple to the ground. Malgalad and his men driven back farther and farther, stumbling as they tried to regain their feet in the treacherous marshes. Gil-galad, as he was seized by the throat by Sauron and burned to death before his friends and soldiers. Oppressive black clouds that lingered in the air constantly, blocking out the vision of the sun and stars, casting a deathly shadow over the land. Orcs rushing headlong at him, his men being cut down viciously, the enemy's eyes glowing red with the fire of battle. The Dark Lord suddenly exploding into pieces, his armor crashing to the earth and his spirit fleeing as fast as the blast that threw the soldiers down.

Sweet Elbereth, not again. He cannot have returned. Not yet. It is not possible. He was destroyed…Sauron was destroyed…no…it cannot be…only Morgoth possessed the power to mutilate our kin into those horrible, twisted forms of life…only he and Sauron could have called upon them to fight, and destroy the Elves…no………no!………NO!

With a jolt his warrior instinct suddenly kicked in, causing Thranduil to jump back to the present and realize that his wife and child were going to be shot if he did not do something. He immediately lunged for Vanya, and yanked her behind a tree as five arrows came speeding past. He felt for the child in her arms and found him safe, breathing a sigh of relief that he was not hurt yet. As more arrows rained in upon them Thranduil seized Vanya's hand and they set off again, the king of Greenwood in the lead.

I thought they were dead. We killed them all. We slaughtered them before we destroyed the tower. He cannot be back. He cannot be.

After weaving in and out of trees and leading the Orcs upon a wild chase he abruptly jerked them to the side. Before them the ground fell away suddenly, turning into the steep side of the range of mountains the Silvan Elves had built their homes upon under Oropher's rule. The sides of the slope were covered with prickly patches of wild brush and boulders that had been dislodged from high above. Without at second thought Thranduil threw himself down, skidding along until ducking under a clump of brush and pulling Vanya with him. A boulder stuck out from the ground directly above them, sheltering the small area along with the brush to add cover. There was just enough space for one person to lie down. Thranduil settled Vanya and the child in their hiding place quickly.

"Stay quiet, and do not move," He told her firmly. Thranduil then tore part of Vanya's sleeve off, kissed her, and disappeared.

As swift as a deer in the forest Thranduil sped up the incline and back onto the path the Orcs had been following. They had not yet passed their hiding place, but the king's sharp ears caught the telltale signs of their distant approach. He immediately set off, continuing again towards his home. The nimble Elf flew through the green foliage, using every bit of speed and quick-thinking from his royal and noble blood to aide him in his task. Once he felt he was far enough along, Thranduil rubbed the strip of Vanya's cloth upon the ground in a small area and left the strip caught in a rough bush. In a split second Thranduil was in the trees, leaping from branch to branch, trusting that the trees of his home would not let him fall. When he reached the spot where he had left his wife and Legolas, Thranduil jumped down and was at Vanya's side in an instant.

Thranduil ducked underneath the shrubbery and threw himself over Vanya, using his body as a shield. He had precious time left before the yrch would go past them. With Thranduil covering the queen and prince, he would be the first one seen and killed. As long as it keeps Vanya alive.

The king shut his eyes and prayed anxiously to the Valar that they would not be seen. He embraced Vanya and the child tenderly and protectively, his body tensing as he heard the Orcs approaching above.

"Thranduil…" Vanya started, clutching at his silk shirt front. Legolas still lay in her arms, wide awake but silent. Thranduil hushed her urgently, trying to listen to the movements of the Orcs. There were several grunts as they shuffled around; searching for the whereabouts of their prey as their scent had suddenly disappeared. A sudden shriek from one of them announced that they had found something. With delighted cries, they set off again, and the crashing footsteps of the yrch faded away into the distance, continuing along the path towards Thranduil's realm.

Thranduil let out a relieved sigh, and relaxed against his wife, closing his eyes. "Rest, meleth-nín," he instructed her. "We will need to flee this place soon."

Vanya drew her husband closer, their foreheads meeting. Her thanks and gratitude for saving them came in the form of a kiss, but as she held him near her hands suddenly met a sticky substance near her husband's shoulder, and when her fingers touched a hard shape Thranduil broke away from her abruptly and hissed softly. "Thranduil, you are wounded…" She murmured concernedly, and tried to tend to him but he waved her gentle hands away.

"Rest while you can. I'm fine." But even as he tried to reassure her Thranduil felt a wave of dizziness overcome him, and he slumped to the side as his body failed him. He groaned softly, suddenly aching all over. Vanya's eyes widened.

"The arrow, it is poisoned," she concluded gravely. All the king did was let out a quiet moan. He wearily pushed himself up and stroked back a stray lock of her golden hair, gazing into her sapphire eyes.

"Vanya, promise me that should I be killed or taken-"

"Do not speak of it, Thranduil! I beg of you, do not say such things," Vanya pleaded, seizing his hand that had been stroking her face. She kissed his palm and wrist longingly, stifling her tears while her eyes were wide and shining. "You will survive. You will take us back to our home, and you shall be king until we leave these lands, and I shall rule ever at your side. Our son shall grow to be a great prince and our people shall follow him with courage, knowing that he would not mislead them."

Thranduil leaned forward and kissed her forehead, pulling Legolas and Vanya into a tight hug. "Pray to the Valar that shall come to be, for I wish it so along with you. But do not wait for me should I fall. Take the child and flee. If the stronghold is under attack, run anywhere but to the enemy. Rivendell and even Lòthlorien will offer you shelter. They would not dare deny entrance to the Queen and the new King."

Vanya felt her heart twist when she realized that by 'new King' Thranduil did not mean himself, but the infant child that lay in her arms that was but a month old. He was certain that he would be killed. She buried her fair face into her husband's neck and shoulder, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. Thranduil shut his eyes and rocked the beautiful woman and child that lay against him gently, afraid to let them go for fear of them being whisked away like smoke on the wind.

"I will always love you, Vanya," Thranduil whispered, breathing in the lavender scent of his beloved's hair. He gazed down at his young son and cradled a tiny fist in his palm. "You too, my little Greenleaf. Be good for your mother." Looking back up, he found Vanya gazing at him tearfully. She tried to smile, failed, but Thranduil did not care. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly, and they pledged their love for each other one last time. When their lips parted Vanya clutched at him for one last embrace, and then he led them out into the wilderness.

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They crept stealthily through the underbrush, darting from tree to tree. Orcs prowled around, alone and in pairs, their low grunts and scuffles the only thing to alert the fleeing family that the yrch were tracking them. Thranduil was constantly alert despite the growing burning sensation in his shoulder that had now spread throughout his front. He could feel the poison seeping into his body, and he was stumbling more often. You must focus. If you fail, Vanya and Legolas will die. Stay awake, Thranduil. Keep them alive.

The baby suddenly whimpered and began to sob. Vanya immediately began to hush him, trying to get him to quiet down, but it was too late. Orcs began shrieking and sped in the direction where they had heard the baby wail. Thranduil knew that he would be the only thing standing in between Vanya and Legolas and death. He tried to lead them a little further, as far as he could make it before the Orcs spotted them. A screech of delight and the screaming of arrows told Thranduil that his time was up. A thud was heard and suddenly Thranduil found himself on the ground, sharp pain exploding in the middle of his back. A slender dart had struck him in the back, and a fiery agony shot through his veins. "Go, Vanya! I shall follow behind you, just run!" Thranduil cried to her, and with one last hesitating glance at him she took off, fleeing into the forest with her precious child pressed against her neck.

As soon as they had left his sight Thranduil seized a dagger from his boot and followed them, not caring about his agonizing wounds nor bothering to take a different pathway. They were not far from safety, and he knew that it would be impossible to fight off forty Orcs if he tarried and he would most assuredly die. His death would be pointless, but if he managed to escape with Vanya and get to safety or if they became surrounded she would have a better chance of fleeing if he was there.

More arrows struck the earth around him, and Thranduil stumbled as a tree root caught his foot. The poison in his system did not help his balance, and he fell to the ground with a grunt. Several Orcs leapt upon him, shrieking, and he felt the entire amount of air whoosh out of his lungs from the enormous weight. Out of sheer desperation to get to Vanya and Legolas the king slit the throat of one Orc while shoving it backwards, throwing its companions off him and Thranduil took off in a flash.

"Thranduil!" A woman's voice screamed and Thranduil gazed ahead anxiously, his emerald eyes bright with worry and dread. Orcs were gathered in a clearing, backing a frantic maiden clutching a child into a corner.

"Vanya." Thranduil breathed. Terror flooded his entire mind, and Thranduil found himself dashing in front of Vanya as an Orc blade swung at her and Legolas. He ducked under the swinging blade while shoving Vanya back and out of range of the blow. Pulling himself back up Thranduil swiped at the first Orc that came near enough to strike. His blade was so small that he was not going to be able to parry any of the enemy's attacks; he would have to rely on his own swiftness and quick-thinking to keep him from getting killed.

Twirling in a vicious fight for his life Thranduil danced out of the way of several blows, but several could not be avoided. Scimitars and knives scraped across his arms and legs, and his clothing was soon drenched with the blood of himself and others, for it seemed as if every wound he delivered he received two. There were so many Orcs to fight. Keep Vanya alive. Die for her, to keep her and the child safe.

Suddenly there were ten Orcs left. They crowded about the king, all trying to strike him. He cried out as a knife sank into his shin, and he fell to one knee. He slashed blindly at anything that got close, blood dripping from his body. Several fell as he struck with fists and the tiny blade in his hand. Thranduil struggled to his feet again as he realized that there were half a dozen Orcs left. Stay awake a little longer. Almost there. Stay awake…

A lumbering Orc loomed up suddenly in front of him and viciously swung a scimitar at his neck. Thranduil ducked low, bending towards the right, and jumped back up as soon as his weary body would obey, but a sharp pain in his right wrist drew a hiss from his lips as his body twisted to the side from the impact of an arrow, his other hand immediately seizing the wounded limb. His bruised and bleeding fingers, now gone numb, curled about the shaft of an arrow that had pierced straight through his arm as he prepared to draw it out. He never got the chance to.

Blinding agony exploded in his left side, and a red haze clouded his vision. The king heard a hoarse gasp come from his lips, and he tasted blood. Time seemed to freeze as Thranduil sank to the ground, the scimitar embedded deeply in his body. He vaguely heard Vanya cry out. Several of the Orcs that had towered over him disappeared for a moment. Screams suddenly sounded behind him as the sickening sound of the tearing of flesh filled the air.

Vanya.

Weakly the king fell onto his hands, and he tried to turn towards his wife. She lay on the ground, the Orcs attacking at her brutally and shredding her fair skin, lapping up the crimson blood that streamed from her mortal wounds with glee. The baby lay wailing nearby, having fallen from her grasp.

"NO!" Thranduil cried desperately, and he lurched towards Vanya, her eyes locked onto his. She was still alive; her body was shaking like a leaf as she gasped for air. Her eyes were round and filled with terror and pain, and Thranduil felt his body lurch to a halt when he saw the naked fear in Vanya's eyes. The Orcs drove one of their poisoned blades into her, and she squeezed her eyes shut as a scream burst from her lips. Every cry she uttered ripped at Thranduil's heart. The pain in his side amounted to nothing now. They are killing her. Valar, they are killing her!

Thranduil tried desperately to get his body to move, but his strength was all but gone. Sweet Elbereth, get up! Vanya is going to die if you do not fight! Remember your father, how he died? You couldn't get to him fast enough, and now you will lose another the same way. Avenge him, avenge Gil-galad, all those Elves that deserved to live, to go back to their wives and children! Get up, Thranduil!

The king blindly groped for his tiny blade, pushing himself up onto his hands weakly. An iron-shod foot came smashed into his side, right where the scimitar was embedded in him, and Thranduil slumped to the ground with anguished cry.

"DARO! Gwanno ereb nín, daro…daro!" Vanya wept, slipping into her native tongue. Excruciating pain was washing over her like the turquoise waves of the sea. But Vanya's sobs and pleas reached deaf ears. She barely heard the child begin to wail for her, and she tried to gather the strength to get to her son but failed. No, I cannot leave him. No…I cannot die…oh Valar, no, I cannot leave Legolas…or Thranduil…no…

Vanya felt a sudden calmness replace all the pain. She lay still, watching the Orcs tear at her flesh, seeming to hover over her body. But she felt the Orc clamp on her throat, stifling her yells, and rather heard than felt the sickening sound of her life ending. Thranduil stared in horror.

No.

A soft gurgling sound was heard from where the queen of Greenwood lay, as her precious blood spattered across the ground of the clearing. She seemed to desperately hold on to that tiny thread that kept her alive, but she could not breathe and her life was draining away as fast as the blood that was pouring from her open throat. The light in her eyes at last died, and she went limp.

When Vanya stopped moving, Thranduil screamed.

All time seemed to cease. Thranduil could not hear anything but his erratic heartbeat pounding in his ears and the steady trickle of his blood hitting the ground in puddles, but he cared not.

With a vicious yell Thranduil was on his feet and killing the Orcs that were still mutilating her body, and then finished off those that were charging him.

That is two that you have taken now. Two of the ones that I have loved more than anything, more than all the others I have lost, and now you threaten my son's life simply by being near him.

One of the Orcs was trying to escape, gripping a squirming bundle wrapped in a silk green cloth. Thranduil hurled the small dagger in his hand at the Orc, embedding itself in the back of it, and the Orc collapsed to the ground with a shriek.

How dare you, foul servants of Sauron! I shall kill you all, and I shall laugh when I see the terror on your faces.

Thranduil didn't feel the explosion of pain when one of the dying ones reached for him and yanked the scimitar from his side. He kicked the Orc off of him and snapped the neck of the last one with such ferocity that he nearly tore the head from the Orc's body.

Fear, yes fear me, fear the wrath of the one who's wife and father you took! You caused the death of my wife, and it is my wrath you now face!

But the clearing was suddenly engulfed in silence. The sudden absence of his own shouts and the screams of the Orcs he slew echoed loudly in his ears. But now the king could hear the soft patter of raindrops on the glistening needles on the fir trees. He was the only one standing now, and he was breathing hard, his hands suddenly clutching his side where blood poured freely from his horrible wound as pain wracked his frame. The wound was so large and open that he could touch his splintered ribs when he pressed his hand against his side.

Struggling to ignore the pain, Thranduil stumbled to Vanya's side, where she lay surrounded by dead Orcs. "No…Valar, no…" Thranduil breathed, his bloodied hands shaking as they grabbed her torn shoulders. He shook her anxiously, trying to wake her, not wanting to believe the worst. "Vanya…meleth-nín…no…"

Thranduil couldn't look at her torn throat. Her blood was everywhere, now covering his hands and front as he cradled her broken body, her skin slick and dripping.

Sobbing, the king clutched at his slain wife, kissing the eyes that would never look upon him again. Vanya was gone. She would never come back. She had bore him a son, a beautiful child born not even two months ago, and now she was dead…

Thranduil sat up suddenly.

The child.

Legolas!

Whirling around, he furtively scanned for his young son. "Legolas!" he cried, lurching to his feet. "Legolas!"

A small whimper answered from where an Orc lay dead. Thranduil was there in an instant, shoving the Orc off his child. Glittering sapphire eyes peered up at him from the stained and bloodied silk that the baby prince lay in, silver tears streaking his tiny face. Thranduil cradled the child in his beaten and bleeding arms, soothing the tired and scared Legolas.

"Ada's here, child. I am here, my little Greenleaf." Thranduil whispered, holding him close. A sudden wave of pain swept over the hurt king, and gasping he sank to the ground. His breathing was suddenly labored, and he coughed up precious blood that he had lost too much of already. The three poisoned arrows, a scimitar wound in the side, and a slashed leg had begun to take the toll upon his body. Thranduil felt sick, and bending over he retched, his stomach doing somersaults. His head ached, his whole body was screaming at him in agony, and he held Legolas close to keep him warm.

You failed her…her death is your fault…you failed her…failed…

"No…" Thranduil sobbed, pressing Legolas even closer to himself. "Valar, no…"

Tears and raindrops slid down the king's face, easing the fire of the fever that was raging inside him, but Thranduil found little comfort in that, clutching the only child and heir to his throne, the last of his family lying in his arms. He stumbled to his feet. I have to get back. I have to get Legolas to safety. Thranduil took only a few steps before he felt violently ill again. His vision blurred, and blinking the blood from his eyes he tried to focus. Suddenly shimmering figures were before him with pure white horses, powerful and tall. Strong arms caught the king as he began to collapse, and the face of his best friend was the last thing Thranduil saw before he blacked out.

When Imrathon and his companions stepped into the clearing, his mouth dropped open in shock. There must have been at least fifty Orc bodies lying before him, but it was not the yrch that caught his attention, but the dazed Elf that stood among them. "Sweet Elbereth…" Imrathon breathed. "King Thranduil…"

Thranduil stood still, his child in his arms and unmoving, his blood upon them both. The king was on the verge of collapse; it was a wonder he had not fallen over already. His eyes were glazed over with fever, and Imrathon doubted that the king actually saw him as he rushed to grab his lord before he hit the ground. With a sigh, Thranduil passed out; his body at last was allowed some rest and a break from the pain. His face ashen, Imrathon searched for a pulse within his king's body. He sighed in relief when a weak heartbeat reached his gentle hands. Tenderly the warrior removed the baby prince from the arms of his father and one of his soldiers took the child silently.

"Aradan!" Imrathon called, and an Elf came forward. "See to it that his wounds are treated as well as they can be." He watched as Aradan bent over Thranduil worriedly and was inspecting the scimitar wound on his side gravely. "Where is he wounded the worst?"

Grimly, Aradan checked over his king, trying to locate all his wounds. "He has a sword wound in his left side…an arrow in his right wrist, back, and left shoulder…a deep slice on his left shin…several snapped ribs around his side wound…and countless minor bruises and cuts."

Imrathon swore quietly. "Will you be able to save him?" He asked in a softer tone. Aradan closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering.

"I know not," Aradan answered, touching his king's pale face with care. "But I will do what I can."

Imrathon nodded solemnly. "So be it," He murmured, and made to move away from the signs of battle, but a grief-ridden cry stopped him in his tracks. Spinning around, the warrior was at a soldier's side in a flash where the Elf knelt before a figure. "It's the queen," the soldier announced shakily, staring at the woman who lay in front of him. Imrathon gasped when he beheld the lady and her countless wounds. "They tore out her throat…"

Imrathon closed his eyes with a shudder when he saw the terrorized look that would be forever engraved upon his queen's fair face. She had died in fear, defenseless against the Orcs that had attacked her.

Imrathon unfastened his cloak and gently wrapped the body of Vanya in the soft material, hiding her marred face and neck. After the task was completed, Imrathon moved away from the gruesome scene as tears threatened to overcome him. He stood quietly for several minutes, staring into the foliage, wishing to be anywhere but here.

A quiet sob echoed from where the soldier still knelt. Imrathon glanced over, and gently called for him.

"Airion, come here."

Airion looked up, eyes reddened from tears. He got up and stood before his commander, trembling a little from the shock of finding their king dying with the baby prince in his arms and queen slain. Imrathon placed his hand on the young Elf's shoulder in brotherly love. Valar, he should not be seeing this. He is so young…

"Airion, I would like you to see to the prince. This is not a place for anyone to be, even one as well-trained as you." Even though the words were spoken with gentleness, Airion knew it was an order.

"I am fine, my lord." Airion replied hotly, even though tears pricked at his eyes. The softness in Imrathon's silver eyes hardened slightly.

"Nay, you are not fine, and you know it, Airion," Imrathon corrected strictly, but continued in a more sympathetic tone. "You cannot deny what is true. Your love for you king and country is great, soldier. You are yet young. You should not be seeing this. I would like you to see to the prince. He is in your care now. Do not think that your tears are a sign of weakness, but that they are a sign of love. You mourn deeply for the loss of our queen and the injury to our king, and we all are, whether we show it or not."

Airion gazed at Imrathon for the longest time, tears beginning to fill his eyes. "Hannon le," He murmured, and smiled sadly. "Your words have given me strength, Imrathon. I thank you." Airion saluted his captain respectfully, and moved away to take the baby prince from the arms of one of the soldiers.

Imrathon watched him leave with a heavy heart, and sank to the ground with a sigh, kicking an Orc carcass in anger. He settled deep into his mind, trying to pull away from the impending grief that threatened to make tears fall, but he had barely found any peace within his memories or thoughts when a soft moan startled him. Thranduil must be stirring.

Hurrying over to his liege's side, Imrathon bent over the injured king as Aradan began to dab at Thranduil's forehead with a cool strip of dampened cloth. As a healer, Aradan was nothing compared to Greenwood's greatest, Daernesta, who had even studied under Lord Elrond of Rivendell, but he knew his medicines well and was the best healer Imrathon had with him.

The king's face was as white as snow, the blood that remained upon his skin contrasting sharply to his color. Thranduil's face was drawn tight with pain, and as he awoke his arms shifted, suddenly searching for the child that should have been in his grasp. When the realization dawned on his foggy mind that Legolas was not with him, his eyes fluttered open and he looked about in confusion and worry, trying to sit up. Aradan quickly pressed him back down.

"Rest, my lord, your son is safe," Imrathon informed him gently. He carefully helped Thranduil up to a more sitting position, trying to relieve him of some of the pain of his back wounds rubbing against the ground and leaning his king's head back against his shoulder. Thranduil's breath rattled painfully in his chest, and waves of pain were emanating from his side where he had been struck with the scimitar.

"Imrathon…what…?" Thranduil asked blearily, the fever and pain only adding to his confusion and disorientation.

"Your wife is slain, my lord, and you have been terribly wounded. One of my soldiers is attending to Prince Legolas as we speak," Imrathon explained gently, wishing he did not have to tell his king what had transpired. Thranduil suddenly moaned.

"Oh, Valar, I remember. No…no…I remember…By Eru, and the child had to see it. He is only two months old, by the Valar…" Thranduil whispered, everything coming back to him now. He broke down and wept, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. "No…"

Legolas began suddenly to squirm and whimper, and started to cry. Thranduil's glazed and tear-filled eyes locked upon his son, and with his hands shaking he took the child from Airion's arms. Legolas relaxed slightly at last, knowing that his father would be there to protect him.